Killing time
by Phoenixian
Summary: The team is drawn into an old case with a new victim, one that is only too familiar. How much time do they have before their family is broken forever?
1. Dead bodies and melting children

Don Flack flashed his badge at the rookie as he passed under the yellow tape, already feeling the summer afternoon heat taking a toll on his mood, nothing like several hours processing, or watching other's process to wear him out. Personally, he liked spring, when it was warm enough for a t-shirt and cool enough to stay dry, even when you were playing cat and mouse with a twenty something gangster who would probably run themselves right out of their baggy jeans. It had been known to happen.

He glanced at the rookie who seemed to be turning a faint shade of green as he looked on the scene before them.

"First body?"

"Yes sir."

"Go for a walk, do some canvassing, see if anyone heard or saw anything. The last thing we need here is someone contaminating the evidence."

"Yes sir" the younger man said gratefully, disappearing around the corner. Flack hoped the kid was grateful enough that he would think to bring some water when he dared return.

"Hey Mac" he greeted the CSI, watching as the other man leaned low over the body, digging through his pockets with latex gloves. Mac looked up and shook his head. They wouldn't be so lucky.

"I wouldn't worry about it" Flack said, leaning in for a closer look himself, taking in the various gang and prison tattoos on the man's arms and bare upper torso. "This guy is definitely in the system. So what are we thinking here?"

Mac raised his eyebrows. "I got here maybe two minutes before you did Don, we've got what we've got."

"Oh, c'mon Mac. Look at this neighborhood, look at this guy, look over there, that might just be the murder weapon." Mac chuckled and lead the way farther down the alley. A dumpster on wheels had been pushed up against the building, half covering a graffiti sign that someone had artistically woven across the bricks. But they weren't looking in the dumpster, in fact, Flack did not envy the person who would eventually be forced to dig through the bags of trash for any evidence. They both got to their knees to look beneath the metal can, at a handgun that was sticking out from behind one of the wheels.

"Danny's on his way with the camera, so for now were just locating and marking. He'll take photos when he gets here, then we can bag and tag, wrap up our friend here and get back to the lab."

"Air conditioning?"

They straightened and made their way along slowly, eyes on the ground, looking for other trace evidence. The thing about any alley was that it was filled with all kinds of trash. Cigarette butts, cans and garbage, used needles, decaying animal droppings.

"So is Lindsay around here somewhere?"

Mac glanced up from his external examination of a pile of junk against the opposite wall.

"She's off today. Why?"

"Oh. I thought I saw her car when I pulled in down the street, and you said Danny wasn't here yet. Guess I was wrong."

Mac's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he shrugged. "We always use department vehicles when we go to a scene.I expect Lindsay's catching up on some sleep."

"Right."

"Liking the heat?" Danny called, appearing on the other side of the tape, camera in one hand, kit in the other. Flack reached out and held up the tape for him to pass underneath.

"How you doing man?" he asked, clapping his friend on the back.

"Great. Jealous of Linds. She told me she was sleeping in, then she was gonna take Lucy and meet a friend for lunch. Tough day."

"Well, the faster we get done here, the faster we get out of here" Mac reminded them. "You can bag and tag Danny."

"Sure thing."

A minute later, Danny set down the camera and extracted the weapon from beneath the dumpster. He straightened, examining the piece in his hand.

"Murder weapon?" Flack asked, earning looks from both CSI's. "Hey, It's a reasonable question."

Mac shook his head. "I've marked several shell casings, as far as I can tell from two different weapons. Danny?"

"Glock 9, recently fired, as to if it's the murder weapon or not..."

"Ya, okay, I get the point" Flack said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm gonna go help my boys out, see if we have any witnesses. Holler if you need me."

Ten minutes later he was back, notebook still in hand, open to an as yet blank page.

"That was fast" Danny commented, lifting yet another cigarette butt and sliding it into an envelope, marking and sealing it.

"Ya well. Apparently no one around here saw or heard anything that's gonna help us out. Either their deaf, blind and telling the truth or their scared of the repercussions of talking."

"You didn't get anything?" Mac asked, looking over Flack's shoulder at the empty pages.

He shrugged. "One kid saw two sexy bitches and a baby. Apparently it's some sort of crime for such a sweet piece of ass to be all tied up like that." He rolled his eyes. "And the owner of the cafe down the street, which is probably just a cover for some drug ring by the way said that this guy might have been in there eating pizza, supposing our vic has an eyeball tattooed on his head."

"No such luck."

"I'll have my guys come back when we have a solid I.d. You guys almost done here?"

"Ya, almost."

"See you back at the lab in an hour?"

"Sure thing."

He slipped back under the tape and made his way from the crime scene to his vehicle down the street, holster unclipped just in case. The place gave him an uneasy feeling and it wasn't just the boarded up windows and the half dozen sets of eyes that were clearly watching him from various points on the street and from behind their curtains. He would have bet that not a thing went down on that street that someone didn't notice and he was pretty sure that the crime had been no different. He leveled with his car and beeped it open. The metal handle burned his skin as he touched it. He was not looking forward to getting into the vehicular oven.

The sound of a crying child made him turn quickly, searching for the source, and his eyes came to rest on the car that he had mistaken earlier as Lindsay's. The sound of the crying child was coming from within the sweltering hot car. He wondered how long it had been there, baking in the sun.

He crossed the distance in a few quick strides and shoved his face up against the tinted window of the back seat in order to see inside.

Lucy Messer stared back out at him.

* * *

Plz review. Cheers.


	2. Patient revenge

Lindsay was going to be sick. She was trying desperately to control the reflex but her body was trying to fight the drugs that she had been given, expel them. Her stomach clenched and she swallowed forcefully, taking deep breaths through her nose. Her mouth was taped shut and she was afraid that she might drown if she threw up. Taped, just like her hands and feet, leaving her lying awkwardly on her side in the back of the dark van all alone. She could feel the dips in the road, hear the driver cursing as he wound through traffic, but she couldn't scream and she couldn't struggle, she could barely move at all.

They had given her water some ways back, the men in the masks, tall, bulky, rough. She hoped that the masks might mean that they weren't planning to kill her. The only one who's face she had seen was lying dead in an alley a block from where her daughter was suffocating in a heated car.

She couldn't think about it, not when she was in no position to fix it. She could only hope that the police had found that body, that Danny or Mac or Stella had seen her car, found Lucy before it was too late.

She was fairly certain that the water had been drugged, because no sooner had she drunk it then she had fallen asleep and she had woken up some time later, what must have been hours, feeling groggy and sick. She strained against the tape but it was no good, she was stuck there, with no escape and no one knowing she was missing. Not yet.

She should have known better herself, been more wary when she had gotten the call. It was her job to catch the details, to weed out the truth from the lies and she had let her guard down at the worst possible time. Half of what had happened was blank or fuzzy in her memory which she attributed to the drugs and her head ached painfully on the side. Someone must have hit her.

She could remember lunch clearly. She hadn't been very hungry, she had had a salad, Lucy had slept and Michaela..? She struggled against the fog that was pressing over her mind, trying to focus on what had happened. Michaela had seemed so nervous.

Lindsay had read her like a book. She was using again, back in with the wrong people. Lindsay had offered her a ride afterwards. Then what...? She remembered hearing the girl scream. She had had her gun with her, she was going to call for help, she had to protect Lucy too, so what had really happened? The next thing that she remembered was the dead guy in the alley, then more blanks, then the man with the irish accent giving her water, telling her to be good and they wouldn't hurt her friend, they hadn't known about Lucy, they hadn't seen her. But they knew that she was a cop, she had said so, she had pointed her gun at them, she remembered doing it, telling them she was with the NYPD. Where was Michaela and what was the abduction about? A set up or a crime of opportunity.

A bump in the road had her rolling onto her face. She had to be more alert, to pay closer attention to what was happening. She couldn't just disappear like this, damn it, she told herself, she wouldn't. She brought up Danny's face in her head, the look he had had that morning. She had woken to find him asleep beside her with Lucy lying on his bare chest. Danny had opened his eyes and smiled a smile that was only for her. She had never loved either of them more than she had at that moment. It wasn't going to end like this. Lucy would know her mother.

She kicked herself into CSI mode, on the hopes that someone was looking for her and might find evidence that would lead to her recovery. She had to believe that they would. Her colleagues were the best, they had solved so many cases with very little to go on and she was almost praying that this would be the same. She hadn't survived when she was fourteen only to die now. She spread her hands as wide as they would go and pressed her fingers and palms against the metal bed. She fumbled slowly, working her hands up around the tape, trying to remove her watch, but it was no good. She couldn't reach it well enough to take it off.

A trickle of blood blurred her vision momentarily and she knew she was right about being hit. Someone had hit her hard enough to draw blood. Holding her breath, she pressed her head down and rubbed it along. She knew she was probably infecting her wound with all kinds of dirt but she could hope that whatever happened when she got out of the truck, that no matter how hard these guys tried, they wouldn't be able to hide the blood from luminal.

She strained her ears against the sound of the motor but there was nothing distinct to make out that might tell her where she was. She didn't think it was night though she couldn't see her watch as it was jammed up against her back, she had no way of knowing how much time had passed or if anyone had noticed that she was missing. She must have slept for a long time but at least she was fully dressed and seemed to be fairly alert though slightly foggy and slow moving which was definitely a problem. She needed a plan.

The time stretched endlessly in either direction. She felt around her, kicking with her feet, but she found nothing that could be used as a weapon, there was nothing in the back of the van at all, except for her. She forced herself to breath evenly and she denied herself the comfort of tears, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She wouldn't cry, not until she saw her daughter again, her husband, hell anyone at all. Don, Stella, Mac, Sheldon, even Adam. She longed for a familiar face. She swallowed again, refusing to acknowledge the pain or the nausea. The only thing that mattered was staying alive.

Her body tensed unconsciously, alerting her that the vehicle was slowing. She strained her ears once more as the motion decelerated and she heard the squeak of the breaks as the vehicle came to a slow stop, the tires crunching on gravel. Doors slammed and footsteps sounded on the gravel too, along with the voices of two men. She remembered that their had been two, the one with the irish accent and the other who hadn't spoken at all, but laughed morbidly when the other man had fallen.

A door to her left suddenly slid back and she was blinded momentarily as sunlight flooded the darkened vehicle. She blinked owlishly against the encroaching light and a moment later she was hit by an intense wave of heat.

She shrunk back from the door involuntarily, thinking of Lucy, boiling away in her car, probably hundreds of miles away. How long could an infant last like that? She had worked those cases before, parents leaving their children unattended as they ran into the store or the casino, windows up, no air conditioning. It was usually over in a matter of hours. What if Lucy died? Would Danny ever forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself? She chocked back a bitter laugh, knowing that it probably didn't matter anyway, she probably wouldn't see either of them ever again. She would never know if Lucy had been rescued in time.

The two men stood framed in the doorway, two dark figures haloed by the sun at their backs, looking in on her as she shrunk from the stifling heat. The larger man reached in and dragged her from the vehicle as if she weighed nothing, setting her down on her feet as the heat penetrated every pore. How was it that she had barely noticed just how hot it was when she had left the house that morning, she had barely considered it, only grumbling about the unpleasant temperature but really it had meant very little with her plans to stay in her air conditioned car or at least indoors, no thoughts to what it might mean in terms of her daughters life.

Both men were watching her. She could feel her knees, weak beneath her, her legs like rubber, still taped together though she wouldn't have been capable of running anyway.

The man who had lifted her reached out a hand and brushed a lock of hair back from her face. He laughed, a deep throated sound that was perfectly sufficient in making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She pulled back from his touch, taking in her surroundings. They seemed to be surrounded by miles and miles of trees and cliffs with only the one road in sight. She did her best not to panic, and she forced herself not to think that they had brought her there just to kill her. In fact she was getting a sense of deja vu as she looked out over the landscape before them, bringing up some memory that she couldn't quite place. It had been different then, a different year, a different season, a different time of day. Early morning, she thought, she had watched the sun come up on that very spot, amazed at the beauty of it. She was fairly certain that Mac had been there, that sounded right, and someone else too, but how was that possible. A case, it had to have been a case, but nothing exceptional stood out in her mind, it had just been another day, or had it? She couldn't remember.

She was jerked from her thoughts as the large man leaned down and cut the tape that bound her legs. The other man grabbed her shoulders roughly, forcing her forward, farther up along the road, through a small, definitely familiar opening between two trees that lead to a rock path beyond which a grand wooden summer house stood looking out over the same view that she had had from the road, and a second later, her brain moving much slower than normal, she realized exactly exactly where she was. She was yanked to a sharp stop at the head of the path.

'_You'll pay for this detectives_' a harsh voice sounded in the back of her mind. '_When your least expecting i__t_'. There had been more but she couldn't quite recall. They had been empty threats, the man was spending the rest of his life in jail.

"Jared Dean says hello" one of her captors whispered low in her ear, his rough accent grating as he spoke the name that she hadn't heard in almost two years.

"He's a patient guy" she said, satisfied to hear that her voice was steady. Both men guffawed stupidly.

Next thing she felt was a prick on the arm, a needle, more drugs. Her muscles melted, her legs buckling beneath her, her mind going blank once more. She slumped forward and was caught by the man holding her who swept her up in his huge arms and carried her forward towards the house. She was unconscious before they were through the door.


	3. Inconceivable loss

Danny could feel himself shaking, from fear or anger he didn't know. He held onto his daughter tightly, imagining what could have happened if Don hadn't seen the car and what might have happened that morning when Lindsay had gone to meet someone for lunch. He couldn't think straight, couldn't put together any scenarios in his head, couldn't remember what she had told him. He could see her face, talking to him, her lips moving, but no sound came out, no sound reached him. He knew that the other's would be there soon, they had a second crime scene, they had to find Lindsay before it was too late. And if it was already too late? He closed his eyes and pressed his face into Lucy's thin blonde hair. The little girl whined, squirming in his arms.

"Danny!"

"Danny?"

He felt hands pulling roughly at his arms. He opened his eyes and found Stella in front of him, trying to take Lucy away. He didn't want to let her go.

"Danny, give her to me. Sheldon's going to take a look at her." Her voice was forceful, demanding. He looked down at his daughter, he was holding her too tightly, he might be hurting her. He released Lucy and Stella took her, swinging her onto her hip. Lucy stopped crying.

He sunk down onto the curb and buried his face in his hands. He had never felt so helpless, he had never felt so much pain. Voices yelled to each other, sirens went off nearby, boots crunched on broken glass and it was all separate from him, like a dream, or watching a movie.

"Danny." Stella wound an arm around his shoulder as she lowered herself to the ground beside him. He glanced up, reading the same look of desperation and fear on her face that he felt himself.

"Where' s Lucy?" he demanded, looking around, an ever present fear that he had failed to protect her lingering over his shoulders. And she wasn't the only one that he hadn't protected.

"Danny. Sheldon has her in the ambulance. She's fine, a little dehydrated. He thinks she was probably in the car for about an hour. Same as the dead guys time of death."

He nodded, his hands wedged between his knees, still itching and shaking, he wanted to shoot something, or more likely someone, whoever had touched Lindsay and left his daughter to die.

"Mac said Lindsay was meeting someone for lunch today. Do you remember who it was? Where they were going?"

He racked his brain, thinking back to that morning. Her plans had been the last thing on his mind. She had been so beautiful. A name...

"It was Michaela. I think. That's all I've got. Damn it!"

"Danny" Stella said softly. "Were going to find her. Don't give up yet."

Of course she was right. What was he doing, sitting on the corner feeling sorry for himself when Lindsay was out there somewhere, probably injured, hopefully alive?

"We have to get to the lab" he announced, rising to his feet and looking around, trying to remember where he had parked and to see how far the others had gotten with the evidence. Adam had come and gone with the evidence from the murder. Mac and Sheldon were now finger printing the car.

"Danny? What about Lucy? Is there somewhere she can go?"

"Ya, I'll have a uniform take her to daycare in my car, it's got a car seat."

"Are you sure..?"

"I can't not work today Stella."

****

Two hours since they had found Lucy. He didn't know how long since Lindsay had actually gone missing. He pushed his way through the glass doors to ident where Sheldon and Adam were bent low over the computer screen, scrolling through a list of offences next to a mug shot of a young woman with long brown hair and dark bruises on her face. Danny felt something screaming inside his head as he looked at the picture. He had seen her before, or at least this same photo, but he couldn't bring it up.

"What did you find?" he asked. Sheldon and Adam both jumped at the sound of his voice.

"That's Michaela, isn't it?" he gestured to the screen.

Adam nodded. "Don just went to pick her up. Her prints were all over the inside of Lindsay's car and the gun that we found in the alley, along with Lindsay's."

"And it was Lindsay's gun?"

"Yes sir."

"What's she got to do with Linds?"

"I think I remember this girl" Adam said thoughtfully, eyes on the screen. "She was the victim in an abuse case that Lindsay was working on a few years back, and something else too, I think. I'll check it out."

Danny turned to go. "That girls a drug addict and a criminal and Lindsay took our baby daughter to have lunch with her. Find out why Adam. I'll be at P.D"

"Danny" Sheldon protested as he pushed back through the doors, his friend on his heels. "Danny, you know you can't talk to this girl."

"I'm not planning on it. "

"Then what's the point?"

They stopped at the elevators and Danny jammed the button impatiently.

"Lindsay has been missing for hours. My daughter almost died. That girl knows something."

****

"Ok, Michaela, lets try again. What were you doing with Detective Monroe this morning?"

Danny watched the girl's expression through the glass. Fear and anger and hatred. Still no flicker of recognition in her dark eyes. An experienced lier. Don leaned against the table across from her, watching her just as closely as Danny was from behind the glass, not giving away his own emotions either.

"I told you" she said, glaring back at the detective. "I don't know who that is." She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back in the chair. She was shaking slightly and sweating and Danny knew that she must have come down from a high within the last few hours which meant she had been on drugs when she had met Lindsay. He cracked his knuckles. Don snorted.

"I look stupid to you?"

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Well, how about I refresh your memory a little bit?" Don flipped open the file he was holding.

"Nearly four years ago, Detective Monroe helped you out on an assault charge with your boyfriend, he went to prison because of the good work she did. A few months later you get busted for possession, you call her up, she calls in a favor and your sentence gets busted down to probation. Oh ya, and you had lunch with her today. Your prints were found all over the inside of her car, not to mention her gun, which we found next to a dead body, and I found her daughter locked in a car half a block away."

He paused for a minute then leaned in closer.

"The way I see it Michaela, you're going down for murder and child endangerment. You'll want to help yourself out here, cause Lindsay's not here to do it for you, you see, she's missing, and I don't like it when stuff happens to my friends so I think it would be better for both of us if you started talking to me."

Michaela was staring down at her hands in her lap, her expression unreadable, but when she looked up again the anger and hatred was gone, leaving only the fear behind. Danny might have felt sorry for her under any other circumstances.

" I'm sorry about Lindsay and Lucy but I can't tell you anything. They'll kill me."

"Who will?"

Michaela shook her head violently, her eyes filled with tears. Danny had a sudden urge to rush into the interrogation room and shake her. Her life seemed rather insignificant next to Lindsay's.

"We can protect you Michaela, we can do that, but you have to talk to me."

He pulled a photo of the dead guy from the file and threw it down on the table in front of her. She looked away.

"Tell me about this guy" Don said. "We can find out who he is in about five minutes, his prints are running now, but it'd be better for you to talk. Don't you think you owe it to Lindsay to help us find her?"

The girl took a deep breath and nodded. Don tapped the photo.

"That's my boyfriend. Anthony Dean."

"That the same boyfriend who beat you a few years back?"

She nodded slowly.

"You kill him?"

She nodded again.

"Anthony Dean."

Danny turned and found Mac standing in the doorway, eyes focused through the glass.

"That's what she said. You know him?"

Mac shook his head. " I know his father, and it looks like the apple didn't fall far from the tree."

"What's this got to do with Lindsay?"

"Jared Dean killed seven women in two years. Not only is Lindsay his type, her testimony put him on death row. He swore his revenge when he found out and he's set to be executed in three weeks."

"So not only does he want her dead, but if she is killed and we tie him to it, his execution could be stayed."

Mac nodded. "I guess I'm going to prison."


	4. Finding some answers

"Detective Taylor. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Mac gazed back at the older man in the orange jumpsuit, the prison glass separating them by a few feet and the phones distorting the other man's voice slightly. He ignored the question.

"Detective Lindsay Monroe."

He watched as Jared Dean settled himself back in the hard chair that he had been provided with. Despite his best attempts, the other man was unable to conceal a brief smile that played across his lips at hearing the name. He had obviously been awaiting a similar visit. He brought one arm up onto the small table in front of the glass and Mac was treated to a view of a handful of distasteful prison tattoos. Jared Dean nodded.

"I remember that one" he said conversationally. "She was fine."

"She got you the death penalty" Mac reminded him but the man only shrugged.

"She was real nice to look at. Tell me something detective. You ever tap that?"

Mac didn't react and he began to wonder whether the glass was really there to protect the visitor or the prisoner. Lindsay's time was running out. He leaned forward.

"So I hear your sons been coming to visit you lately?" he commented. Jared Dean's eyes narrowed as he tried to determine what the change in subject meant. He nodded slowly.

"He's a good kid."

"Does what he's told?" he asked.

"Is this going somewhere detective, cause I have better things I could be doing."

"Tell me about Anthony's girlfriend. "

Jared looked up. "That little bitch. She clings onto Tony for money and drugs then turns around and slaps assault charges on his ass."

"You telling me they weren't legit?"

"She was just pissed off cause they had a fight."

"Another case involving you that detective Monroe worked."

Another shrugged again. "Tony and his girl worked all that out. Their back together now."

"And she's working for you in exchange for money and drugs."

"And why would you think that detective?"

"She gave detective Monroe a call. They met up for lunch today."

Jared Dean shifted slightly, an eagerness clear on his face.

Mac continued. "Then Michaela shot Tony. Your sons dead Jared. So tell me, what do you really think of Lindsay Monroe?"

He had been right to depend on Jared's anger to get him talking. He could see the man's fury radiating through his body, his large hands shaking as he gripped the telephone receiver.

"That bitch is dead!"

"Detective Monroe, Jared?"

" She thought she could kill me for what I did to those women, well she was a stuck up little whore who thought she was so much better, so much smarter than me..."

"Not everyone is afraid of you Jared" Mac replied calmly, folding his hands in front of him as if he were simply having another interesting conversation.

"She wasn't then, but I'll bet she is now, at least if she's still alive. She thought she could get the better of Jared Dean, and now I've made her nothing, just like all those other little whores that I killed, those little sluts who begged for their lives and screamed for help when there was no one around to hear them scream cause there was never a friendly face for those bitches on the top of that mountain, and there won't be for Lindsay Monroe either!" he shouted, slamming his fists down on the table in front of him, making the glass window between them shake. A guard stepped forward just as Mac stood.

"Where the hell are you going Taylor?" Jared Dean roared. Mac gazed back at the other man. "You just told me exactly where my detective is. I'll see you at your execution" he replied, replacing the receiver, rising and making his way from the room.

"She's already dead!" Jared's voice echoed after him down the corridor. "You're too late. I won!"

****

"They said they just wanted to scare her, intimidate her a bit. Then I found out what they were really planning, that they were going to kill her to stall Jared's execution."

Michaela fidgeted uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

"That's when you shot Tony?"

"Yes. I like Lindsay a lot, she's the only one who's ever really tried to help me. I couldn't let them kill her. Then I would have no one. But they said they would kill me if I didn't help." She stared down at her fingers, interlaced on the table, then dropped her hands to her lap.

"Well now there's a little girl who might grow up without her mother" he said, leaning over the table. Michaela shrunk away from him.

"How did you get her gun, Michaela?"

The young woman sighed. "There were three men, Tony and the other's. It was my job to lure her to the alley, so I did, but she knew that something was going on, she pulled out her gun before she even knew they were there. But Tony was behind her and she didn't know. She saw the other two, then he grabbed her from behind and she dropped the gun."

"And you picked it up and shot Tony. You change your mind just like that?"

"I saw the van, I realized what they were really planning to do, I knew Lucy was locked in the car... and Lindsay was fighting so hard. She was yelling at me to run, she actually fought Tony off at first, but then the other two guys grabbed her, and she was fighting all three of them and she looked at me and she must have known that it was my fault."

She paused and took a shaky breath but when he said nothing she continued.

"I couldn't let them do that to Lindsay. I was the one who got her involved, I was the one who lured her there, I told her I needed to talk to someone. But then she brought her daughter, and when Tony grabbed her... they weren't paying attention to me at all. Lindsay might have gotten away from all three of them but they were holding her down and then Tony injected her with something, I don't know what, and she went all limp, and she was just staring up at me, and she told me to run. She was trying to save my life even though she couldn't save her own."

The young woman was crying now, twisting her hair between her fingers and ringing her hands, but as Don listened to what had happened to his friend he had trouble feeling sorry for the person who was responsible for it all. He couldn't even imagine what Danny was thinking behind the glass. He was surprised that the CSI hadn't busted into the room yet.

"Then what?"

"I picked up the gun. They weren't paying attention. They were loading her into the van. Then I just pulled the trigger. That's the last thing I really remember, seeing Tony falling, and all that blood. The other guys must have just jumped in the van and taken off."

"And you didn't try to help Lucy or call for help."

"I don't remember, I killed Tony. I don't remember much after that until I was brought here."

"No? You don't remember leaving a little girl to boil in a car. You don't remember letting those guys get away with attacking and abducting your friend?"

"I'm sorry!" She began to sob, head in her hands.

"Do you know where they took her?" he demanded.

"No!"

Don felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took a deep breath and saw Mac's number flashing on the screen. He brought the phone to his ear.

"They took Lindsay to Jared's place on the hill."

"The place where the other victim's were killed?" he asked incredulously. It had seemed too obvious, too stupid to even bother checking. How stupid did a criminal have to be to bring a new victim to the one place that was already common knowledge to the police.

"That's right" Mac said. "He wanted to descend Lindsay to the level of his other victims. She wasn't afraid of him before, so he thought by bringing her to the place where he killed the other women, he would make her seem just as weak and afraid and breakable to him as all the others did while he was killing them."

"Do you think we'll make it?" Don asked, already hastening from the room and down the hall with Danny on his heels, his face white as if he had seen a ghost, his hands shaking in fury.

"Well, were sure as hell gonna try" Mac replied. "SWATs meeting us there."

* * *

It's been a long time. Will try to update again within the next few days.


	5. One chance

The first thing she felt was pain. Blinding pain, that radiated through her head and down her spine, sharp and prickly and paralyzing. At first it was all she could focus on, and then she took a deep breath, bringing up all the memories of what had happened. She bit her lip hard, and tasted blood, oddly grateful for the metallic, salty taste.

Lindsay kept her eyes closed, allowing her other senses to register and evaluate her surroundings as she fought the drugs, floating in and out of consciousness.

Silence. Pressing. Neither comforting nor horrifying. No gruff voices, no ghoulish laughter, no footsteps. Yet she could feel something, or someone nearby and didn't trust to reveal that she was awake.

Warmth. She could feel the sun on her face. Sweat trickled uncomfortably down her neck, through her hair. Her shirt was damp, sticking to her clammy skin, but her feet were oddly cool and she realized that her shoes had been removed. She almost smiled to herself, considering the advantage of being a farm girl, running around barefoot in the fields for years. Going shoeless wasn't about to stop her from making a break for it first chance she got.

Light. The insides of her eyelids were red, and she brought up the summer home in her mind, the large picture windows staring down the mountain. In the middle of nowhere, isolated, alone.

Touch. Warm floorboards against her arm and side. She wasn't blindfolded or gagged, though she could feel the bindings on her wrists, likely her own handcuffs. Her empty holster dug into her hip, useless. She cursed her own stupidity.

The pain was the worst. She took short, rapid breaths until it eased slightly, allowing her to breath properly, allowing her to concentrate completely on her surroundings .

She tensed her muscles slowly, beginning with her toes and working her way up to her face, twitching a finger, clenching her jaw. It seemed that nothing was broken or sprained. Her lip was split and she probably had a concussion, if the pain was anything to go by. Her throat was dry and itchy.

She pictured the landscape around the house, the steep slope of trees running down away from the gravel road that wound across the range. It was her best bet, the only place that offered any protection from angry, trigger happy gangsters. Bastards.

And finally she opened her eyes.

The house was beautiful really. She remembered thinking it the first time she had been there, wondering whether it had instilled some false sense of hope in the women who had died there. But lying on the floor, bound and bleeding, she found that it was worse, far worse, than it might have been in a dank shed or moldy basement. The beautiful house, the sun shining through the large open windows, was straight out of a nightmare, a criminal element that was sophisticated and powerful, not afraid of anything. The stained wood floors and delicate furniture seemed to be there only to mock her.

She shifted and sat up, feeling the handcuffs jerk against something hard and metal that they seemed to be attached too. She was trapped against the heavy steel radiator against the far wall. Her head swam as she straightened, shaking away the effects of whatever drug she had been given.

"Look who woke up."

Lindsay bit her tongue, forcing her expression to remain unsurprised, blocking the fear and anger, containing the adrenaline that was rushing through her veins. She turned her head, her vision lagging as if she were drunk.

The larger of the two men sat on a sofa that appeared far too expensive for him to belong. He was a monster watching his prey, his eyes flitting over her face and body. He licked his lips and ran one hand over close cropped blonde hair.

"Where's your friend?" she demanded. Clear, emotionless, casual.

He grinned. "Had a message needed to be delivered, but don't you worry, he'll be back real quick with the go'head and we'll get right too it. Bringing back some buddies of ours too."

His words struggled through to her and she picked up a familiar accent that she hadn't noticed before. He had to be from Boston. She took another breath and shook her head again, clearing her mind, trying again to focus. All she knew was that she was alone with one man in the middle of nowhere and it was the best chance she was going to get before there were more of them. First order of business was to get the handcuffs taken off.

"I'm going to be sick" she said, swallowing loudly, watching his smile fade, to be replaced by a look of disgust. He opened his mouth, but said nothing.

"Un cuff me and take me to the toilet" she whined.

"Right." Blondie stood abruptly and ducked beside her, key already in hand. She leaned away from him unconsciously as he opened the cuffs swiftly, leaving them dangling from one of her wrists and hauling her, rather unceremoniously, to her feet.

"Don't even think about trying anything" he growled, voice low, marching her through the well lit sitting room and into the narrow hall that she knew to lead to the bathroom and bedrooms. She could see the balcony and the line of trees falling away from the house through the every window that they passed. She could feel the ape's hip pressing into her side as he muscled her along, and even better, or perhaps worse, depending, the butt of his gun knocking against her arm below where he held her in a death grip.

He shoved her through the open bathroom door, glancing around carefully, eyes falling on the small oval window set high in the wall, too high to climb out of even if you could get it open. He gestured to the toilet.

She returned his gaze coldly, planting her feet and pulling a face. "I need some privacy" she said, keeping her voice high pitched and whiny, just to irritate him. Blondie rolled his eyes and made his way out of the small room, closing the door behind him.

"Hurry up" he ordered as the handle snapped back into place and she was left, mercifully alone.

She wanted to laugh and scream and cry and throw up and hyperventilate all at once as she sunk down onto the cool, comforting tile, fighting the urge to do any of those things. She thought of the other women, Jared Dean's other victims, captive in the same building, feeling the same fear and hatred, never seeing their families again, simply gone, murdered. She wasn't about to join them. She had lived through far worse, and she owed it to herself, to the other women, to her family and friends, she owed it to them to survive one more time. They would expect her to fight, just as she would expect if any of them were in her place.

What she wanted most of all was to start all over again, to wake up once more next to Danny and Lucy and know just how lucky she really was, to feel safe, and loved and happy again, because she had no idea if she would ever see them again. What had she been thinking, taking Lucy with her to lunch. Would that one mistake cost her her child? Would she ever even know or would her decision cost Danny his entire family? Could he survive something like that? And it would be her fault, for letting her guard down, for putting herself and their daughter at risk, and allowing Jared Dean and his moronic minions to get the better of her.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, just in case, though she was nowhere near giving up.

She rose, fumbling to attach the loose cuff to the same wrist as the other to keep it from swinging and getting in her way, then leaned over the sink to take in a few gulps of delicious, icy water from the tap. She turned suddenly to the toilet and threw up until she dry heaved, then flushed it, turning away and washing out her mouth, forcing herself to swallow more water, not knowing when she would drink again. She changed the tap to warm, splashing her arms and face, running her fingers through her hair, beating off some of the suffocating heat, a plan, and the courage to go through with it fully formed in her mind. She could see the sky darkening through the small window, and she wondered whether she had been gone for a few hours, or more than a day, whether Danny and Mac and the others would think to check Jared Dean's summer home, whether they had gotten to Lucy in time and what they were thinking. She refused to allow the emotions to register. It wasn't the time.

"Are you almost done in there, or what?" Blondie called impatiently through the door.

It was now or never. If she waited any longer she would lose her chance forever. She didn't respond, moving back to the toilet, and easing the heavy ceramic lid off of the toilet tank, testing the comforting weight in her hands. She pressed her back against the wall, positioned carefully so that he wouldn't be able to see her immediately when he opened the door, but she could take everything in in the bathroom mirror.

"What the hell? I'm coming in."

It was almost too easy. Jared Dean should have opted for brains over braun, she thought, steeling herself as the doorknob turned.

The door opened, blondie's reflection appearing across from her, looking confused and irritated, and Lindsay swung with all her might, catching him in the head. She heard his skull crack and his large body hit the wall and slumped to the ground in a heap, his face a swollen, mangled mess.

She let the lid slide from her fingers, and took a few seconds to get her own body moving again as she looked down at him in slight shock, not knowing, or really caring whether she had killed him or just knocked him unconscious, knowing that it had been him or her all along. She couldn't help but want him to be really dead, if only for what the men had done to Lucy. She felt a dry sob escape her lips.

She leaned over him, reaching under his large t-shirt and freeing the hi-point .45 stubby pistol from it's holster. She had never been so glad to have a gun in her hands as she curled her fingers over the metal, one resting easily, comfortingly, ever so lightly, against the trigger.

And then she heard the sound of tires on gravel and she was officially out of time.

* * *

Sorry it's been so long. Will try to update more often. Plz review. Cheers.


	6. Shower of bullets

Yes, they would come. Lindsay could think of nothing else as she slid over the railing and dropped through several feet of muggy air. The ground, covered in dirt and pine needles came up to meet her, her bare feet already stinging as pebbles and needles dug into her skin. She hardly felt it. The darkness had already ebbed around the building, and deepened the shadows among the trees. It was a blessing and a curse, faster to lose herself from the sight of her captors, faster to fall or to lose herself completely. Her only real hope was Mac, and Danny, and Stella and the others.

It was a question of time only, how long it would take them to figure it all out, to round up the man power. But they would manage, she knew, as they always did, would race to the mountains, sirens blaring, guns drawn. But would they make it in time? Would she still be alive then or would they have to hold Danny back so as to keep him from seeing his wives' bullet ridden corpse? It was not a pleasant thought.

She veered through the low shrubbery nearest to the top of the incline and started down, winding into the trees as quickly as she could, though the cover was still thin. Her best chance would be if they thought she had gone out the front door. She had no shoes after all. Who in their right mind would go for a hike down the side of a mountain with bare feet? Every ounce of her tingled, in anticipation, in fear, in desperation, and she clung tighter to her only weapon.

And then she heard the cry of fury in the house behind her and she knew that the big blonde would have been discovered by his mates. Was he alive or dead she wondered. She had hit him as hard as she could. She felt no guilt, no apology.

Voices floated down to her from the open windows, calling back and forth as the men searched the house, as the front door opened and closed and she heard feet on gravel as they searched for some trace of her, and she grew further and further away, her going excruciatingly slow so as not to lose control and go tumbling down the mountain instead, knocking herself out against a tree or a rock. Her eyes fought the gathering darkness as she stumbled through the trees.

The unmistakable sound of the glass door sliding open, the door that she had been extra careful to close behind her as she had slipped from the house. Footsteps on the wooden patio.

Then a cry. Despite her progress, she had been spotted, there was no doubt about it. She heard the sound of a rifle being cocked and she threw herself against the nearest tree, back flat against the bark as sweat ran over her skin. She was grateful for what cover the darkness offered, for it seemed that her time was limited now no matter what. What use was a revolver against at least three men and as many guns? If the owner of the rifle was any shot at all he would take her down the instant she showed so much as a hand. Closing her eyes, she fought the desperation that was threatening to cripple her, gripping the stubby like a lifeline. She was certain that the others had made their way from the porch, and she could hear more of them than she had thought. They would find her at any minute, their watchful sniper ensuring that she had nowhere to run. It was as though she stopped breathing. Her heart stopped beating. Time was suspended for what seemed like hours, though she knew it had only been seconds when she heard the sound of sirens in the distance, barely audible, but definitely heading in the right direction, and she found she was able to breath once more.

She was not the only one to hear the sound. Cursing rose over the distant sirens, drowning out the hopeful blaring sound of survival, but at the same time giving away the locations of every man who made to follow her. She heard the sound of metal on wood, footsteps on the patio above and again the sliding glass door. The sniper was gone, allowing her a small window of opportunity, and others were following, returning to the house until only a few were left.

All she had to do was get lost in the woods until back up arrived. She knew it sounded simpler than it would be, but that was where the gun came in handy, and her own survival instincts.

Bending swiftly, Lindsay felt the ground at her feet, her fingers closing mercifully around a heavy stone, and she rose once more, feeling the presence of her pursuers uncomfortably close. She could hear their heavy breathing and she knew that if she looked out from behind her tree they would be close enough to touch. And so, bending her arm so that it remained hidden behind the large trunk, she threw the stone, putting all her force into the effort. She was rewarded a moment later as it crashed into the underbrush forty feet away, as though someone had slipped or stepped on dry twigs. And the ploy worked, drawing the footsteps away as menacing laughter floated between them in their eagerness to recapture her. The sirens grew louder with every passing moment, and she heard the third man calling to his friends, but she couldn't make out the words, only fury in his voice, and a hint of fear.

There were no steps she could take without making a sound, and she was sure that the rock trick would not work twice. And so, taking a deep breath that she was sure would be her last, Lindsay flung herself away from the relative safety and cover that she had found and down through the trees, the voices already rising above her as the men discovered that she had fooled them so simply. But not for long. She could hear their feet crashing down after her in heavy boots, giving them a definite advantage in the dark, rocky forest. They could hear her too, she knew, and it was only a matter of time before they would see her. She wound back and forth through the maze of trees, all the better to dodge bullets as gunshots sounded behind her and she ducked her head instinctively, flinching against the thought of hot lead ripping into her body, even as they embedded themselves in the softwood around her. She would never again take her kevlar vest for granted, if she survived at least.

She matched their shots every chance she got, though she had no time at all to calculate angles or aim as she fled. Still, a cry of pain and fury told her that she had hit, or at the very least grazed her mark, or one of them.

She could no longer make out any sirens, whether in the distance or close by. Her ears rang and her whole body ached. Her feet were bloody, as was her arm. Her eyes blurred dizzily, affected by the earlier blow to the head and the resulting concussion, though the adrenaline and panic had pushed aside her nausea, at least temporarily.

Fire tore through her arm as she leapt over a large boulder and fell, her ankle twisting beneath her, her body crumpling onto the hard ground, her weapon slipping from her grasp.


	7. Courtesy of Jared Dean

He hated the house from the moment he set eyes on it, from the way it loomed mockingly out of the darkness, so open, as though flaunting what it had done to him and his. He hated the curve of the arch over the door and the dim lighting that peaked out from beneath the drawn blinds, giving the illusion of a simple summer home where children could run in the forest and couples could look at the stars. He hated that they hadn't arrived sooner, and he hated the thought of Lindsay suffering somewhere on the other side of the door, drugs running in her veins as Jared Dean's foul henchmen did unspeakable things to her. Was he too late?

He didn't remember the car pulling to a stop or his door being flung open as he flew from the vehicle, but the next thing he knew he felt arms grappling to get a hold of him and he turned on his own captor, gun in hand, to find that it was only Stella who was doing her best to hold him. Her small hands held him back from storming the building as Flack began to direct the Swat team in the surrounding of the house.

He would not be allowed to get involved of course, for legal reasons, but mostly he knew that Stella was stopping him for fear of what they might find in the house.

He could hear shouting and gunshots from the woods as Flack and the Swat team made their move on the other side, slipping onto the dark patio and into the trees in search of anyone who might have escaped upon hearing the sirens nearby, but it seemed that there were plenty of people both inside and outside of the house, bent on refusing the cops entry, and as each moment passed Danny felt his hope slipping into despair as his muscles relaxed and Stella's hand against his chest served only as a gentle reminder that Lindsay was beyond his reach. He watched as Mac stepped forward, backed up on all sides, and put his foot against the heavy wooden front door, ducking aside as it flung in on it's hinges, shots ringing out from either side.

* * *

Stars exploded before her eyes as she landed hard, twisting onto her stomach in the same moment, blinking to clear her vision as pain erupted throughout her entire body. Gasping for lost air and searching blindly for the gun in the dark bracken, she pressed herself against the boulder, praying that each second would not be her last. She could still hear the men behind her, but it was as though their footsteps were coming from all sides, the sound echoing menacingly under the canopy above, and she knew she was running out of time. The voices drew closer and closer with each breath and every twinge of pain.

Lindsay mustered all of her strength and force of will, clawing at the boulder behind her until she had raised herself to a crouch, remaining concealed behind the rock, though they had probably already spotted her, seen her fall. She shifted her weight and a low cry of desperation escaped her throat as she realized that her ankle was broken, or at best sprained, and there would be no escaping. Luck was certainly not on her side. Her vision blurred again and she pressed her palm to her temple, ignoring the fresh blood making it's way down the side of her head, from a seemingly fresh wound.

A shot flew over her head, whether as a warning or a taunt, and there was nothing for it but to try. She wouldn't sit around waiting to be executed. A rushing sound filled her ears and then cleared, and the sounds of the forest became clear and sharp all around her, the silence broken by feet in the underbrush. Taking a deep breath she struggled to her feet once again and started forward, only for her ankle to give out beneath her once more, bringing her back onto her hands and knees, her weapon still nowhere to be found, every part of her aching with defeat.

She fought the tears that pricked at her eyes as she allowed the faces of her husband and daughter to swim through her mind. She shut her eyes tightly, her head bowed, wondering if she might have it in her to make one last attempt at survival.

A gentle, sickening laughter sounded behind her, and she couldn't help but wonder if it would be the last thing she would ever hear as two shots rent the air.

* * *

He could hear similar sounds of defeat inside and out as he pressed forward into the summer home, the handful of men more than outmatched by Flack and his team. Clearly, Jared Dean had underestimated their ability to predict where Lindsay had been taken. Mac stepped over the body sprawled in the entrance hall and found himself in a dim living room framed with large windows and filled with stuffy over priced furniture. He could see Flack and his men behind the house, leading another of Jared Dean's men to join his fellows, kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads and guns at their backs, the light shining from the windows of the house, illuminating the motley crew.

Cops in full SWAT gear moved through the house, clearing each room. He felt a presence at his shoulder and turned to find Stella standing nearby, with Danny behind her, staring fixedly at a set of handcuffs that hung dejectedly from the radiator.

A uniform Mac didn't know appeared in the doorway that led to the rest of the house. Mac knew the layout of the house from his previous visit, and he could see each room in his mind's eye, clean and well decorated, with no indication as to the horrible things that had taken place in them. He nodded to the officer.

"We've cleared the building sir" the man said, his voice apologetic. "There's a man down in the bathroom, but we haven't located Detective Monroe. If she was ever here, she certainly isn't anymore."

Mac chose not to look at Danny as they made their way down the narrow corridor to the airy washroom. /he pushed the door in, but it would only come open part way, blocked by the body of a large blond man built like a gorilla, and who had had the side of his face caved in with something heavy and a great deal of force, the kind that came from desperation and a strong sense of survival. He noted the porcelain toilet lid, abandoned on the ground.

"You think one of his buddies did this to him?" the cop asked from the doorway as the three CSI squished into the tiny room and Mac knelt to check for a pulse. He shook his head.

"No, I don't" he replied simply as he straightened up again and gazed out the window at the forest that stretched out below them. "These guys don't use toilet lids to take each other out. They've got much simpler ways of killing each other."

"Not that this way would be considered entirely ineffective" the cop added.

"And his weapon is missing" Danny said, nudging the dead man's holster with one foot, a faint, timid note of hope finally allowing itself to enter his voice.

* * *

"Alright genius" Don growled in frustration with a growing desire to hit something, or more realistically someone, as he loomed over the dejected group of men, trying to ignore the foul scent that rolled off some of them and the curses they were throwing liberally at him and the other officers. "Let's try this again. We found Detective Monroe's shoes and handcuffs in the house. We've got her blood, her gun and her shield in the van, and we've got you and your buddies swarming all over the property shooting at my guys, so don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about because she may not be here now, but I know she was... Don't you think it's about time you helped yourself out here?" He hauled the thick, balding man to his feet, staring him down until he broke eye contact.

"You want to know where your detective is..?" the man said in a gruff voice, his cold eyes sparkling with what could only be interpreted as glee. " She tried to escape, you know, ran into the forest, made it into a sport, cause you know detective, my boys enjoy hunting. It's a good sport, you should really try it sometime. You might have been on time to save her if she hadn't run, but she took out one of my guys, so I figured I had to return the favor" Flack felt something cold and hard expanding in his chest, something he hadn't felt since Jess had been killed. If they hadn't been surrounded by other cops...He followed the man's gaze to the patio door, to where Danny and Stella stood side by side, watching the interaction in heated silence. "But since you asked..." the man continued, sounding overly pleased with himself as he feigned a sympathetic voice "I'd say that your Detective Monroe is dead, courtesy of Jared Dean."

* * *

**So I thought this was going to be the last chapter, which is why it's kind of different, but it turns out its not. Sorry it's been so long, but I definitely will get the last chapter up pretty soon. Thanks for reading. **

**P.S Did everybody see the season finale? HOLY CRAP!**


	8. Back to your future

A sea of black boots and a distant voice, a pair of warm hands urging her back to herself, dragging her to her feet. Faces swam in her vision behind beams of light, people she didn't know, others she recognized vaguely. The same hands holding her up, disappearing, then catching her again as her legs failed to do their job, buckling beneath her. A single face, familiar and concerned, right in front of hers..

"Linds. Hey, Lindsay..." Then to someone else, "We need to get her down to the ambulance. Now. Radio Flack, would you..." the voice continued, speaking words that refused to form any meaning in her mind. Her skin was hot and clammy, the arms around her equally so as she was held steadyingly against the sleek kevlar vest.

"Hawkes..?" She was surprised to hear her own voice. She had longed to see a face she knew and now here he was. Hawkes wound his arms around her more securely as she buried her face in his shoulder. She had made it, survived, and been saved. She was going to live. She was going to see Danny again, and... she pulled away, to look her friend in the eye. His face and hands were smeared with what she could only assume was her own blood.

"Lucy-" she managed to choke out. She had to know. There would be no relief if something had happened to her daughter, something that she would be to blame for.

"She's fine Linds. She misses you." Hawkes smiled, smoothing her hair comfortingly, his own relief and exhaustion evident.

"Hawkes..how?-"

But the question remained unfinished as he began to guide her slowly away from the horror and doubt of the past days, down the steep slope to the familiar squad cars and the over bright lights of the ambulance, to a place where she had all the time in the world, where she could return to her job, her life and her family, to where she belonged, a privilege that had been denied to all the women who had died, alone, in a too nice house, in the middle of nowhere, on the top of a hill, anonymous and brutalized, murdered and buried, but never having peace.

* * *

The crackling voice over the radio was what saved them all. The fear and panic that had been lingering over them was offered the chance to subside as the excitement rolled to a close, as the last of Jared Dean's followers were loaded into the back of a van and the doors were slammed shut, ensuring that each of them would pay their fair price for their hand in the abduction of a police officer, and all the other warrants that were likely out for each of them. Mac called in the coroner for the two men who had been taken out, one with the lid of a toilet, and the other in the raid.

But Danny paid attention to none of it. Restless and jumpy, he stood staring down the dark road as the extra squad cars drove away, escorting the van full of criminals.

"We've got her. Detective Monroe is alive."

He heard it over and over in his mind as he ran his hands nervously through his hair, as the others joined him in the gravel driveway, sweating and exhausted, Flack nursing a grazed arm, vests discarded.

He wondered why he had ever doubted that she would make it, if he had assumed she had spent all her luck when she was fourteen. But then he had seen the man on the bathroom floor, the man who was at least three times the size of his wife, the man who could have killed her, and he had realized then that she made her own luck, that they all did, and that he would never again underestimate her ability to take care of herself. Plenty of people took bullets. Plenty of people died. Jess had done both, had reminded them all that they were still only human. Watching the ambulance winding it's way towards him in the darkness, he had no idea how Don had managed to deal with the loss of the woman he had loved, that he still loved but would never see again.

And then it was as though everything sped up, going into hyperdrive. The ambulance came to a stop on the gravel nearby and the back doors were thrown open from within. Danny couldn't get there fast enough, launching himself into the compartment, to make his own judgement on whether his wife was alright or not, as she smiled grimly, bravely, at him before allowing him to wrap her in his arms, to feel each breath that she took and listen to the sound of her heartbeat. The blood on her face and her arms would wash away, and the wounds and scrapes and cuts would go away, some leaving scars, others not. The memories would fade and Lindsay would be alright after all.

"I'm sorry Danny, I'm so sorry..." she was saying over and over again, but he only shushed her, holding her as close to him as he could, feeling her skin, breathing in the scent of her hair that mingled with the smell of blood and dirt and sweat and relief. He held her for so long that by the time he looked up again the ambulance was pulling into hospital emergency and other vehicles were pulling in behind them, Mac and Stella and Flack, and Sheldon was talking to them about a concussion and a sprain and a grazed arm that all seemed mightily inconsequential when considering the alternative.

* * *

Lindsay awoke to Lucy's shrill cries from the next room. Early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming her face as she tried to go back to sleep, Danny's chest comfortable and secure beneath her cheek, but another cry pulled her farther into the waking world. Danny groaned and stretched beneath her, kissing her head. "I'll do it" he muttered, easing her off of him to burrow in the soft pillows alone, taking advantage of the heat that he left behind, listening to his footsteps as he crossed the hardwood floor, stopping as Lucy's cries cut off instantly and he could be heard talking softly to her in gibberish from the next room.

Lindsay pushed back the covers and eased out of bed, flinching as different parts of her burned, and she steadied herself as she stood, limping after Danny on her wrapped ankle. She stopped in the doorway of her daughter's room and watched her husband rocking Lucy, smiling down at her as she waved her small arms.

"Hey."

He glanced up and smiled, turning towards her as she joined him. "Hey" he replied, freeing one of his arms to wrap around her. He kissed her then, soft and perfect. She leaned her head against his chest. In Danny's other arm, Lucy lifted up a tiny hand and touched her mother's cheek. Lindsay wished that life could always be so happy and simple, but the truth was that reality would always find a way to sneak in.

"So did you hear?" she asked finally, her voice soft, as though to give less impact to her words. "They've found the last of the women that Dean had had killed since he was put away. Apparently it was mostly his son that did the jobs for him. "Danny's arms tightened around his girls.

She stopped, knowing that it was her fault that the peaceful moment they had been having had been broken, replaced with the professional cold that came from working in the world of the dead. She glanced up at Danny and found him looking back at her, concern written in his eyes. She held his eyes for a moment, then lowered her own, running her hand absently down his bare chest and she smiled sadly, touching Lucy's cheek as the little girl's eyes began to droop and her small thumb met her lips. She couldn't help but wonder how she would ever be able to keep her daughter safe in such a dangerous world, where getting pizza with your friends ended in the loss of life and innocence, where putting a man behind bars was no guarantee of stopping the horror that he spread, and she wondered, by the look on Danny's face if he wasn't thinking the same thing, if he wasn't considering all those whom he had tried, and failed to protect; Reuben, his brother, even Aiden, and now her and Lucy. But even as she stood, warm and safe in her husbands arms, in her own apartment, far away from anyone who had ever tried to hurt her, she couldn't help but picture a fourteen year old girl cowering on the floor of a public washroom, listening as her best friends were murdered, as sheer luck and a matter of seconds saved her life and ensured her future, and she wondered if her own daughter might not be so lucky, whether Lucy might not someday be the one on the wrong end of a shotgun while someone else was granted another chance, while some other family watched guiltily as their world fell apart.

* * *

Mac watched solemnly from his post next to the door as Lindsay slid into the hard plastic seat that he had occupied himself not a week before. She glanced around at him nervously and he nodded his encouragement as the door on the other side of the divided room was opened by a guard and Jared Dean was led through, his expression impassive as he caught sight of them both, as he slid into the available chair, his handcuffs clinking as he rested his hands on the small table, his eyes on Lindsay. She looked back at him, as emotionless and cool as she always was, a useful professional skill picked up in the process of interviewing hundreds of suspects all eager to press a cops buttons. The ability to separate yourself from such a personal moment was definitely a bonus, but having worked so closely with Lindsay he at least could pick up on the small shivers in her behavior, the hesitation as she reached for the phone on her side of the divider, and the way she eased back in her chair as the man on the other side did the same.

"Detective Blondie" Dean cooed, his voice just distinguishable to Mac's ears "How nice to see you in such fine condition." Mac's jaw tightened and his fists clenched themselves defensively. But Lindsay's reply was more than enough, her voice remaining steady and indifferent as she gazed back at the man who had planned her murder. "Three of your men are dead, Jared, including your son. The rest have been arrested. You have nothing left on the outside anymore, no one else to carry out the crimes that you dream about committing, no one else who cares about you. The D.A's adding charges for the women you had your son and his buddies kill, and you'll be put on death row. No more jury tampering or sympathy for you."

This didn't seem to concern the man as he glared back at her defiantly, his own hands shaking visibly, but his face remained composed. "You trying to scare me blondie?" he said with a bark of laughter. "New York state hasn't killed anyone in years" he added, seemingly unconcerned, "Nice try though." He shook his head, still fighting for some expression of fear or submission from the young woman across from him, but once again he failed, the reason for which he had decided to victimize her in the first place, but after all he had put her through he had nothing to show for it as she leaned forward in her seat, caught up in the moment.

"And I don't care if they put those needles in you or not" she hissed at him. "But what I know is that you will rot away in this hole with no family or friends. The only people who will ever touch you will be prison guards and the inmate who makes you into his bitch. You like to believe you're so powerful, but the truth is that your son is dead because of you and you have no one else to turn to, no one else who has been brainwashed into doing everything you say, no one else who gives a shit. And something else that I know is you will never be able to hurt anyone ever again. You will never see the light leave their eyes, never feel their blood run between your fingers, and you will never again experience the thrill that you get from taking a life-"

Lindsay didn't even flinch as Jared Dean flung himself at the divider, his screams and threats echoing against the chilly walls even as he was dragged from the room by a handful of guards and Mac guessed that he would need to be sedated before he calmed down.

Lindsay stood and joined him at the door. The buzzer sounded and they left the stifling little box that passed for an interview room.

"Feeling better?" he asked quietly as they reclaimed their weapons.

"Much. Thanks" she replied with a calm smile. "And I owe it to Jared" she said, referring to the fact that it had been Jared Dean who had requested the meeting in the first place, though Mac guessed he had been expecting it to go somewhat differently than it had.

They exited the gate and crossed to the vehicle where Danny sat, sulking disapprovingly behind the wheel, but Mac was still able to pick up on the way Danny lit up when Lindsay appeared, the way he allowed her to pull him out of his slump, the relief and joy that was still evident in his expression, the wonder at how he had ever gotten so lucky, at Lindsay's strength, and how she hadn't been taken from him against all odds. Watching them together, after all the things that they had been through, both together and apart, Mac knew that somehow they would be alright.

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**Thanks for reading everybody, and for the reviews. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. This is the last chapter but I am hoping to write another csi ny story eventually. I'm leaving tomorrow for about a month but after that you guys should all watch out for another one. Cheers:)**


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